The ballroom shimmer as every inch of the governor's mansion was bathed in gold. The chandeliers above cast a flattering glow, making every donor look ten years younger and twice as generous. Grace Cole stood in the middle of it all, wondering if this time she could survive a full hour without screaming into a velvet curtain.
She adjusted the strap of her emerald silk dress , a statement piece from a D.C. designer she'd invested in and scanned the room with practiced indifference. To most, she was just the Governor's daughter, paraded out when the optics called for charm and youth. Never mind that she ran a Three hundred million dollar sustainable venture fund. Never mind that she'd just returned from a clean energy summit in Berlin. Here, in this house, she was still a pawn in pearls.
"Grace darling !!"
A woman with a bouffant helmet of hair and diamond earrings that could blind a pilot swooped in. Another senator's wife. Another compliment delivered like a line rehearsed in the mirror.
"You look just like your mother "
Elena smiled politely "So I've been told"
It was always the same script. No one asked what she'd been working on. No one wanted to talk about clean tech or impact investing. Just gowns and gossip and how lovely it was to see Richard Cole's little girl all grown up.
She glanced at the antique grandfather clock near the French doors. If she slipped out in twenty minutes, she could catch a ride back to her hotel before anyone noticed.
"Grace!"
Her father's voice carried across the room like a public address announcement. She flinched. So much for a quiet exit.
Governor Richard Cole strode over with his signature campaign smile , the one polished by decades in politics and perfectly timed for cameras. But it was the man walking beside him who stopped Grace in her tracks.
He was tall, maybe 6'3, with dark hair cut close at the sides and just tousled enough on top to look like he didn't try too hard. His charcoal suit was tailored within an inch of its life, sharp enough to wound, and his presence? Unmistakable. Like gravity in a room that didn't deserve it.
"Grace" her father said, puffing up like a peacock. "I'd like you to meet Liam Vale. CEO of Vale Systems. He's heading the smart city initiative we've been talking about."
Liam Vale. Of course. The man behind the flashy Eon Heights project the one threatening to bulldoze Eastwood Park in the name of innovation. The man plastered across tech magazines and investor panels, celebrated for being a genius, a visionary, a ruthless closer.
Grace's expression didn't falter. She extended a hand, firm and unapologetic "Mr. Vale"
He took it, his grip confident and warm. His gray eyes locked onto hers assessing, unblinking. "Ms. Cole, I've heard impressive things"
She raised a brow. "Pity the feeling's not mutual."
His smirk was slow, deliberate. "I'll try not to take it personally."
"Vale Systems," she said, "That's the company planning to raze half of Eastwood Park and replace it with glass towers and drone ports?"
He didn't blink. "That's one interpretation."
"Mine's the accurate one."
Liam tilted his head, amused. "Innovation doesn't wait for nostalgia."
"And neither does greed," she replied sweetly, her smile the sharpest thing in the room.
Her father cleared his throat. Loudly.
"Play nice," he muttered under his breath. "We're trying to build support, not burn bridges."
Grace didn't break eye contact with Liam . "I'm not here to play anything."
Liam chuckled, the sound low and unhurried. "Would you care for a drink?"
"No," she said, brushing past him. "But I'll take a debate."
A beat of silence stretched between them. Then he stepped slightly closer, not touching, just… occupying space. Like he always did. His gaze sharpened, more curious than annoyed.
"Careful, Ms. Cole," he said. "I never lose."
Her eyes flicked up to meet his. "Then you've never played with someone who doesn't care if she wins."
For a fraction of a second, the world around them dimmed crystal chandeliers, political small talk, and clinking glasses fading into the background. It was like stepping into a different current. The air between them thrummed with tension, challenge, something dangerous and unspoken.
And then, as smoothly as he arrived, Liam gave her a polite nod and walked away unbothered, unreadable.
But not before he glanced back. Just once.
Grace didn't blink.
Her father exhaled beside her, exasperated. "He's one of our top backers, Grace. Try not to start a war in the ballroom."
"I'm not one of your interns, Dad."
"No," he said, his voice lower now, almost warning. "But everything you say reflects on me."
She turned away, jaw tight. She hadn't come back to be a talking point in someone else's campaign. She came back to matter on her own terms.
Across the room, Liam Vale was laughing at something a donor said, glass of wine in hand, utterly at ease. But she could feel his eyes flicking back to her ,curiously assessing, waiting.
'Let him watch'
She wasn't backing down